


Choices and Consequences

by Telaryn



Series: The Hero and The Bad Boy [30]
Category: Avengers, Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Begging, Comfort, Cultural Differences, Discussion of Abortion, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Gen, Humiliation, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Male Slash, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Relationship Issues, Religious Conflict, Religious Discussion, Unconventional Families, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:12:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn's kidnapper never expected to be caught.  Now that she has been, the final part of her plan must be addressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices and Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> This ended up being one of the hardest fics I have ever had to write. I always knew the outcome of Quinn's assault would lead us here, but when you're dealing with as many shades of gray as I ended up with it can be hard to find your balance and even harder to keep it. At its heart this is a story about two people whose lives were very nearly ruined by the choices they made and the attempts by the people who love them most to pull them back from the brink.
> 
> It was also not my intent to portray Badria Sahar's aunt and uncle as bigots or extremists - but on the matter of Clint and Quinn's relationship I didn't think I could have them express approval or support and still be true to their faith (yes, I did what research I could on Islam's view of homosexuality). I hope that comes across in the text.

Quinn liked the federal prosecutor who was handling his case well enough, and with his kidnapper looking at being in jail for the rest of her natural life he certainly had no arguments with how her trial preparation was shaping up. The problem was that every time he entered her office endless hours of therapy evaporated and it was suddenly only days – not weeks – since Clint had rescued him.

“Easy…” his lover murmured. The archer’s hand was a comforting weight on his shoulder; Quinn reached up and covered it with his own. “Say the word and we’re gone.”

Exhaling softly, Quinn shook his head. “I’m all right. I can do this.” The hard part was the not-knowing – had something gone wrong? Was the trial going to be postponed? He hated how weak it made him feel every time he imagined having to be in the same room with his rapist for days on end having every bit of his ordeal dissected for a room full of strangers. The one bright spot in the whole mess was that after seemingly endless hours of torturous therapy he could finally name Badria Sahar for what she was and what she’d done.

The sound of the office door opening made him flinch. Clint’s grip tightened briefly; Quinn closed his eyes, cursing the fragile state of his nerves. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Christine Sullivan said as she bustled into the room – all bright energy and sharp angles. By the time Quinn felt secure enough to open his eyes and face what was about to happen she’d taken a seat behind her desk and as far as he could tell hadn’t noticed that anything was out of sorts with him.

“There’s been a…development,” Christine said, folding her hands on the desk and locking eyes with him. “And you need to understand that legally your rights are limited, but I still felt you needed to know what was happening.”

Clint’s fingers suddenly became talons digging into his flesh. “You can’t be serious,” he said softly. Something about his tone made Quinn’s heart skip a beat. He had no idea how Clint had figured out what the prosecutor was about to say before she’d said it, but he was only spared another moment of his own blissful oblivion.

“I’m afraid I am,” Sullivan said. “Badria Sahar has petitioned to be allowed to terminate a late first trimester pregnancy. One of my contacts at the prison said that she’s naming you, Quinn, as the father.”

 _Hands at his wrists and ankles, pinning him to the dirt floor, drugs in his system rendering him helpless to stop what Badria was doing to him…_ Quinn didn’t even realize he’d slipped into a flashback until he heard Clint’s voice calling his name. Gradually as he was able to pull himself free of the nightmare he realized that Barton had come around to crouch in front of him. In deference to what he’d endured, the archer had broken off all physical contact until he was certain Quinn could handle it again.

“She’s…pregnant?” Saying the word out loud _hurt_ \- more than he suspected it should have. “A child? My…child?” It was an idea he’d never once contemplated for himself or his life, but now that it was here in front of him…

Clint had pivoted on the balls of his feet, looking up at the prosecutor. “You said she was petitioning the court – I would have thought abortions would be something you’d want women in prison to have easy access to?”

Sullivan shrugged. “It’s as much a political hot button in the corrections system as it is everywhere else. On the federal level they tend to default to the idea that it’s elective surgery, and as such needs to be handled on a case by case basis.”

“Can I stop it?” Quinn barely realized he’d asked the question before it was out for everyone’s consideration. “If it’s not a foregone conclusion, can I petition the court to stop it?”

The attorney’s visceral reaction to his question was so strong they both saw a flash of her true feelings before the carefully bland prosecutor’s mask slid back into place. “You aren’t forbidden from addressing the court if you feel strongly about it,” she said slowly, “but you can be sure Badria’s attorney will bring up your shared history as the perfect reason why you should be barred from having anything to do with this.”

 _Our shared history…_ It was a polite way of saying that since once upon a time Quinn had murdered the woman’s father and brother virtually in front of her he was one of the last people who should be determining the fate of any child – let alone his own. “Then what?” He groped blindly for Clint’s hand again as he leaned in towards Sullivan – needing something to anchor himself. “There has to be something I can do, otherwise you would have made sure I didn’t hear about this until it was too late.”

The attorney looked as though she was definitely on the verge of reconsidering her decision. Finally she sighed. “You can speak to her directly.”

Clint’s grip on his hand tightened until it was almost painful. Quinn didn’t risk looking at his lover – he could sense exactly what Clint thought about the idea of him facing down his rapist at all, let alone about a subject as emotionally volatile as this one. “Her attorney would likely insist on being present,” Sullivan went on, “which means I should be there as well. Beyond that, it would be up to you to persuade Ms Sahar to change her mind.”

Quinn half expected Clint to say something at that point, but the archer had apparently decided to hold his tongue. “How long do I have?” he asked at last, mind spinning.

Christine Sullivan leaned back in her chair. “I would need to set the wheels in motion no later than tomorrow midday.”

 _Nearly twenty-four hours._ He could do this, couldn’t he? Quinn blew out a shaky breath and nodded. “I’ll call you in the morning, one way or the other.”  
***********************  
His own emotions were a wreck as they left the District Attorney’s office, but Clint kept his silence. On some level he realized that he’d been waiting for this news ever since Quinn’s rescue. The look on DA Sullivan’s face had only confirmed it for him.

Clint knew that for all the time he’d done in therapy, Quinn had never considered the possibility of a child in this whole mess. The ex-mercenary had barely been able to process the fact of his captivity and rape – even though he’d arguably spent more time up close and personal with the dregs of humanity than Clint had, he was still startlingly naïve about the lengths some people would go to in the name of revenge.

“It was the logical result of her raping you,” he said as they reached Quinn’s car. He couldn’t look at his lover, but he could feel Quinn’s pale eyes looking at him – sense the question Quinn couldn’t put words to. “If all she was after was asserting dominance over you, breaking you in some way, she would have stopped at the men…” A surge of anger flooded through him; Clint tightened his hold on the car door handle until the metal dug painfully into his flesh. Quinn had been able to identify six separate individuals who’d taken turns repeatedly assaulting him. Clint had shot one of them in the initial assault, before he knew the full scope of the horror Quinn had endured. By the time he’d satisfied himself that Quinn was going to live, the rest of his assailants were in SHIELD custody, and Coulson of all people was talking him down.

“Clint.”

The sound of his name, spoken by the one voice he loved most in the world, startled him into eye contact. “She was probably planning on raising the kid to hate you,” he said.

“Probably,” Quinn nodded, “which means it’s up to me to convince her that this can be a clean start for both of us.”  
***************************  
As soon as he said the words Quinn knew he’d drawn a line in the sand with Clint. _So be it,_ he thought as they both got in the car. They would talk it out because that’s what couples did, but the more the idea of a child took root in Quinn’s brain and heart, the more certain he was that he couldn’t turn his back on this.

“Have you ever thought about having kids?” he asked as they pulled out onto the highway. He risked a glance at his lover and saw the furrow in his brow that meant this subject was already resonating with Clint on an uncomfortably emotional level. _Shit._

Gray-green eyes met his. “Everybody does, whether they decide they want them or not in the end. You obviously have, am I right?”

“Actually no,” Quinn admitted. “I’d always assumed it wasn’t in the cards.”

He’d clearly surprised Clint, who was silent a moment digesting the reveal. “You know what my childhood was like,” he said finally. “Even if I wasn’t an Avenger, or a SHIELD specialist, or any one of the things I’m qualified to be, I’ve got very little experience with what goes into making a good father.” He blew out a sharp breath – openly unhappy now. “Frankly the statistics of abused children becoming abusers themselves are disturbing enough to warn me away from the whole process.”

Quinn’s mouth was actually open to respond, when he realized Clint had shifted to look more directly at him. “Don’t,” Barton said softly. “Please. I’ve got a pretty good idea what’s going through that head of yours, and anything you say right now without thinking it through first is going to sound like a line.”

That stung, but Quinn forced himself to take a handful of slow, calming breaths before he said, “Okay – understood.” He waited a beat then asked, “Is this something we’re going to be able to talk about?” The initial rush of endorphins that had seen him out of Christine Sullivan’s office was starting to fade, and the reality it left behind was unexpectedly cold and dark and laced with the very strong possibility that this might not work the way he needed it to.

He shivered as Clint reached across and took the hand that was resting slack against his thigh. “We need to talk about it,” he said. “I need to be sure you’re hearing me though, and not just assuming I’m going to go along because this is the one bright spot you might be able to salvage from what happened.”

Quinn had never actually been shot by one of Clint’s arrows, but for the briefest moment he imagined the feeling would have been similar. “You’re right,” he said, his voice thick with a surge of unexpected grief as he squeezed Clint’s hand. “I’m sorry.” He risked a glance at the man sitting next to him. “I don’t know if I can pretend this isn’t happening,” he said. “I definitely can’t stand by and let her abort our child without trying to stop it.”

Clint sighed. “I’m not expecting you to just let the abortion happen,” he admitted. “I’m not. I’m just worried that you’re not thinking about what comes next. You’re very charming when you want something, but she’s not going to just give you custody – you have to understand that.”

“I don’t…” Quinn began, and then he broke off with a bitter chuckle. “Damn. When did you learn me so well?” He exhaled sharply. “Okay. She still hates me more than any living person on this earth. She got pregnant intending to raise this child to hate me. If I’m going to convince her to go through with carrying it to term I’m going to have to be willing to make concessions.”

“Major ones I’m guessing,” Clint said, nodding.

“You’re really not on board with this whole parenthood thing, are you?” Quinn asked, risking another glance at his lover.

Clint was silent for a long moment. “Let’s just say that we’ve got a lot to talk about, and right now my issues are the least of your problems.”  
*********************************  
By the time they returned to Avengers Tower the only thing they’d managed to agree on was that Quinn needed to meet with Badria and try to convince her not to go through with the abortion. “You’re not coming up?” he asked when Clint pressed the button for the common floor instead of their level.

The archer shook his head. “You know the others are going to be looking for details,” he said, leaning against the back wall of the cab while Quinn pressed another button. “Not to mention you don’t need me lurking while you’re calling Christine back.”

Doubt and worry immediately shadowed Quinn’s pale eyes as he took up his own position on one of the adjacent walls. “We’re fine,” Clint said firmly, putting as much reassurance as he could manage into the words. “As soon as you’re ready, come on down and I’ll make you something to eat.”

It was one of the only times in their relationship Clint could remember legitimately needing even a few minutes away from Quinn. He wasn’t used to being the secure one between the two of them, and Quinn’s emotional fragility was like a weight pressing out at him. “You said you were okay with me moving forward with this,” the ex-mercenary said quietly. “Are you really okay, or are you just telling me what you think I need to hear?”

Clint went silent again, struggling with what he wanted to say. “You do get that you died, right?” he asked finally, his voice rough with emotion. “Twice. I know you had a lot of information thrown at you those first couple of days, but we did remember to tell you that part, didn’t we?”

Quinn’s eyes widened – whatever he’d expected Clint to say, it certainly wasn’t this. “Clint…”

The archer shook his head. “No. _I_ was the one who had to sit there and watch them try to keep you alive and know there was nothing I could do. I wasn’t there to protect you from this and I wouldn’t have been able to stop you dying, so you’re gonna have to cut me some slack on being okay with the idea of you tying yourself forever to the woman who almost took you away from me for good.”

Almost as if on cue, the lift doors slid open on the common level. “Wait,” Quinn said as Clint pushed himself off the wall.

He didn’t break stride, merely shook his head. “Make your call,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “then come down and get some food.”

Natasha and Cap were playing a game of pool when he strode into the common area. Bruce and Tony were arguing over a mess of papers whose contents were likely only intelligible to the two of them. Clint would happily have by-passed all of them and gone straight to the kitchen, but he couldn’t remember the last time he and Nat had been within a hundred yards of each other and not been aware of the other’s presence.

This time was no different. She was looking up from her shot just as he walked into view. “Is she pregnant?” she asked.

Feeling his shoulders slump, Clint nodded. “She’s petitioned the court for an abortion. Quinn’s going to try and talk her out of it.”

“Don’t need to ask how you feel about it,” Tony quipped, setting down the piece of paper he’d been waving at Bruce a moment earlier.

“I don’t know how I feel!” Clint snapped. Catching the look of surprise on the handsome billionaire’s face, he blew out a sharp breath. “Sorry. Everything’s just happening too fast and I’m scared he’s investing too much in something that has almost no chance of working.” Natasha slipped an arm around his waist – grateful for the contact, Clint leaned into her.

The other three also moved in closer. “Why won’t it work?” Tony asked. “Given a choice between a psychotic rapist and an upstanding Stark Industries employee, no court in the world would deny Quinn custody.”

Clint was relieved to see he wasn’t the only one thrown by the billionaire’s seemingly cavalier attitude. “He killed her father and her brother,” Cap said, putting down his pool cue and joining the conversation.

“Do we have any proof besides the word of somebody who didn’t actually witness the deed in question?” Stark countered. “I’m just saying – Quinn is the only one who knows absolutely what happened, and I’m sure he’s not so far gone he’s willing to implicate himself.”

It was a point Clint hadn’t considered, and he knew immediately that he didn’t want Tony raising Quinn’s hopes with it. “Do you really think that bitch’s attorney isn’t digging into every bit of Quinn’s past she can find? I don’t care if there’s no proof of what he did – he’s worked too hard to leave all that behind. We’re not opening that door again. Not now.”

His stomach clenched as he saw the sudden shift in Tony’s expression. “Don’t you think that should be _Quinn’s_ decision?”

It took nearly all Clint’s self-control not to pull free of Natasha’s suddenly tightened grip. The mutual attraction between Tony and Quinn was one of the Tower’s worst-kept secrets. Clint trusted Quinn that nothing had happened beyond a drunken kiss that Quinn had initiated during a time he and Clint were having problems, so he’d never felt the need to confront Tony directly.

 _Now though…_ “I think that I need you to stay out of this one,” Clint said, choosing each word as carefully as he could. “I think that if Quinn and I have any hope of a future together we need to be able to talk about this and work out a solution we can both live with.”

There was a heart-stopping beat in which Clint would have sworn the billionaire’s dark gaze took on a challenging edge. In a blink it was gone though, and Stark was stepping back – raising his hands in surrender. 

“Do you want me to sit in on the meeting?” Natasha asked, loosening her hold and drawing his attention away from Tony.

Still rattled from the near-confrontation with his teammate, her question confused Clint. “We can handle it – thanks.”

Standing behind her, Steve cleared his throat. “If you’re going to try and negotiate this out,” the Captain offered, “you don’t want to risk making your sexual orientation the issue.”

Clint felt his thoughts slip a few gears before he realized what Rogers was trying to say. “Son of a bitch,” he swore softly. Everything had broken so fast it had never occurred to him that there might be a religious issue to contend with as well. “Didn’t even think about that,” he admitted out loud, throwing up his hands. “Yes, please,” he told Nat. Quinn was already going to be operating from a serious disadvantage – regardless of his feelings on the larger issue, Clint didn’t want to actively be part of the problem in convincing Badria Sahar not to go through with the abortion.

He wondered if Quinn knew what the Qu’ran had to say on homosexuality. “This is exactly what I was afraid of,” he said miserably.  
******************************  
Once he’d finished his phone call, Quinn sat in the semi-darkened suite and tried to muster the energy to move. He needed the food Clint had proposed, but more than that he needed Clint – needed reassurance that after everything they’d endured this wasn’t going to be the thing that ended them.

 _”You brought this on yourself…”_ It was one of the last things his attackers had said before his life had changed forever, and it was proving to be the hardest part of the entire ordeal for him to confront and work through…because on a very deep level he understood that the man who’d whispered it in his ear wasn’t wrong.

Toeing off his shoes, he slid higher up on the bed and laid down – curling up on his side and hugging his arms across his chest. Badria had known exactly what she was doing when she decided to let him live – on nights like this Quinn could easily believe that his recovery was a sham; that he was never going to be all right again. The idea of a child had given him the first spark of hope he’d had in weeks – if he couldn’t put his life back together for himself, there _was_ a chance he could do it for his child.

 _At what cost?_ he thought, silent tears spilling down his cheeks. He was going to have to fight just to keep Badria from terminating her pregnancy, and even if he was successful Clint was right – there was almost no chance of him getting custody without opening a vein for the woman who’d destroyed him.

“You didn’t come downstairs.”

Quinn dashed at his eyes with the back of one hand before hitching himself up and looking at the door. “Wasn’t hungry,” he said softly. The archer was outlined in the doorway by the light Quinn had left on in the adjoining room and he suddenly felt the distance separating them like a physical ache.

Clint looked for a second like he was going to say something, then sighed. “Did you get hold of Christine?” He came into the bedroom at last.

Quinn shifted himself to a sitting position, implicitly making room for his fiancé on the bed. “Ten o’clock tomorrow at the prison.”

Clint sat next to him and put a hand on his back between his shoulder blades. With a small sob, Quinn leaned into him – Clint’s hand slid across his shoulders until he was hugging Quinn close. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I’m not making this easier for you.”

Quinn slipped his own arms around Clint’s chest, returning the hug. “I really don’t want to talk right now,” he said, shifting as close as he physically could. “Just tell me we’re all right. Please?” The plea was more desperate sounding than he ordinarily would have felt comfortable with, but one of the things he’d been learning to do was lean on Clint the way the archer had leaned on him in the past…and right in this moment he felt stripped as raw as he’d ever been.

Ducking his head, Clint caught Quinn’s mouth in a kiss. It was gentle at first – barely a brush of lips – but when Quinn didn’t pull away, Clint kissed him again harder. Quinn moaned low in his throat, letting his lips part and losing himself in the feel of Clint’s tongue sliding against his own.

They had only just been cleared by Quinn’s doctor to have sex, but the two times they’d tried it so far had ended abruptly with Quinn shaking and crying in his lover’s arms. “Clint…” he began, tensing as warm, callused hands slipped under his shirt to press against his skin.

“Shh…” Clint murmured, nuzzling his neck. “Time for both of us to stop thinking for a bit.” His hands fell away, and Quinn’s breath caught in his throat for a heartbeat – overwhelmed with how much he suddenly missed the slow, careful contact. Pushing himself off the bed, Clint moved around until he was crouched in front of Quinn – hands resting lightly on the ex-mercenary’s thighs. “Do you trust me?” he asked, looking up at Quinn.

“You know I do,” Quinn answered, but the words felt like they were being dragged from him over broken glass. How had things gotten so twisted up between them that Clint would even ask him that after everything they’d been through?

The archer blew out a quiet breath. “I do. And I think we need to try changing tactics for a bit, because you need to stop blaming yourself for what happened and I need to stop being angry with myself for not protecting you when it counted.”

“You couldn’t have…” Quinn began, but Clint immediately silenced him with fingertips pressed to his lips.

“No. You’re right – we need to stop talking for a while, stop trying to tell each other that we’re fine because we’re not.”

Quinn swallowed hard, suddenly worried this discussion was going to go spinning off into a terrifying direction, but Clint pressed on. “You told me Badria said that the point of what happened was to guarantee that it was going to always be between us – that _she_ would always be between us.” His nimble fingers began unbuttoning Quinn’s dress shirt. “I say if that’s the case then we show her just how strong we really are.”  
********************************  
The next morning found Clint pacing the floor of a small waiting room, trying to burn off the excess energy that had his nerves singing. His protective instincts were in overdrive – he’d managed to gentle Quinn into the first real night’s sleep either of them had known in weeks, and it had caught him by surprise how hard it was to let his fiancé walk through the final security screening with Natasha at his side. _It should be me._

Another surprise had been the presence of an Afghani couple who introduced themselves as Badria’s aunt and uncle. Amin Sahar had shaken Clint and Quinn’s hands and nodded politely to Natasha before explaining that he and his wife had also come to the prison to try and convince their niece not to terminate her pregnancy. “There has been too much hate,” Amin had said, pressing Quinn’s hand between his. “This vendetta has gone on long enough.”

Faced with another person whose life had been changed by the violence he’d once embraced, Quinn literally hadn’t known how to respond. Natasha had stepped into the breach, offering a few diplomatically worded phrases before suggesting that those of their group who were meeting with Badria needed to withdraw.

“May I talk to you for a moment?” Amin Sahar’s quiet, measured voice brought Clint up short just as he was about to turn. Pausing for a moment, he tried to quiet his nerves as best he could before turning to fully face Badria’s uncle. Gesturing for the man to continue, he crossed his arms loosely over his chest and waited.

“You should know,” Sahar began, “that I have tried to learn everything I could about you and your…friend. As I told you, I have never stood with my brothers on the issue of what should be done about Mr. Quinn, but I would have to be blind not to understand his intent in coming here to confront my niece.”

Clint ducked his head, struggling to choose his words carefully before he spoke. Amin Sahar had been decent to them – regardless of what had happened or was about to happen, Clint owed him the same in return. “He has a right to know his child.”

Sahar’s smile went suddenly strange. “You seem like a practical man, Mr. Barton. Somebody needs to help Jonah Quinn see that this life he clearly imagines for himself – someone he loves, a child of his body to raise and to cherish – this is not his future. This can never be his future. I know things are done differently here, but my tolerance does not stretch far enough to allow…this.”

 _”You don’t want to risk making your sexual orientation the issue.”_ “Mr. Sahar,” Clint said, holding so tightly to his temper he felt like he was going to come apart, “not to put too fine a point on it, but it was your niece’s actions that made this an issue in the first place.”

He’d blown it. When it came to Quinn these days it was so easy for Clint to get lost in the man he was and forget entirely about the man he’d been. Amin Sahar’s expression said as much – _”Do you really wish to play this game with me?”_ was writ large on his handsome features. “While I am sympathetic to your situation Mr. Barton,” the man said, “we cannot forget your friend’s part in this. Jonah Quinn set these events in motion a lifetime ago, and until my niece retaliated had never been called to account for his crimes.”

“She went too far,” Clint snapped, but he managed to swallow the rest of his outburst just in time. “I know he carries blame for this,” he added, once he could trust himself to speak again. “So does he. It’s why the district attorney’s not looking at the death penalty, and why Quinn is in there now, begging her not to go through with the abortion.”

“And that,” Amin said, “is why I am appealing to you as somebody who can make him understand.”  
***************************  
“Nice to have most of the work handled for us,” Natasha muttered, shifting in her seat. Quinn couldn’t do anything but stare as the argument that had been raging between Badria and her aunt for nearly ten minutes showed no signs of stopping. The lawyers looked just as overwhelmed as they were.

 _”The Qu’ran allows for abortion in extreme circumstances,”_ Badria protested in Arabic. _”I will not be forced to simply hand him a child, after what he has done to me.”_

 _”You chose to bear this child,”_ her aunt replied, speaking Arabic as well. _”You must bear the consequences of that choice as well as the consequences of the choice you made to seek revenge in this way.”_

Quinn didn’t even realize he’d smiled until Badria’s focus shifted to him. “Bastard,” she spat, switching to English. “You think this is funny convincing my aunt to argue your case?”

Yasameen Sahar drew herself up proudly. “I speak for your uncle and myself, who are only thinking of your well-being, Badria. Do not pile one more sin on top of the others you have already committed.”

Badria flinched, but kept her eyes on Quinn. “You begged me once to stop your suffering,” she said, palms flat on the table, leaning in until Quinn instinctively drew back. “Will you beg me now for the life of our child?”

“Badria,” Yasameen snapped, clearly displeased by her niece’s behavior.

Ignoring Natasha’s attempts to keep him in his chair, Quinn pushed himself slowly to his feet. “I can beg,” he said calmly, “if it will help make up for your loss. I can do a lot of things I never thought I was capable of until you came back into my life. What I _can’t_ do is change what I’ve done to your family, any more than you can change what you’ve done to mine.” He drew a deep, shuddering breath. “You’ve broken me. I have nightmares about what you put me through. I don’t know if my relationship is strong enough to survive it and I can’t even hate you for that because of the debt between us.” He clenched his hands into tight fists. “I do know that terminating this pregnancy solves nothing. It certainly won’t undo what I’ve done.”

He sensed Natasha easing back, and saw at the edge of his vision that he’d impressed Badria’s aunt. Badria herself was another matter. “Giving you this child spits on the memory of my father and brother. I won’t do it.”

“Not to mention your lifestyle is not suited to a proper Muslim upbringing,” Yasameen Sahar interjected. “Which is why Amin and myself are willing to take custody of our grand-niece or nephew once it’s born.”

Quinn opened his mouth to protest, but Natasha grabbed his arm and squeezed. Yasameen was facing her niece now, and for the first time since they’d entered the room Badria seemed predisposed to listen. “I know you feel justified in what you’ve done, but Mr. Quinn is correct – your crimes piled on top of his have changed nothing. Your father wanted you to live a rich, full life and he wanted you to know Allah’s grace and His mercy. He never wanted this for you.”

“It’s a fair solution,” Natasha offered. She tugged surreptitiously at Quinn until he stepped back even with her. “Your baby lives and it’s raised in a proper Muslim home by people who will make sure you’re a part of its life.”

 _She knows what she’s doing,_ Quinn thought, watching Natasha as she wove her web. Clint would have trusted her in this situation, so even though he was terrified that she was cutting him out of his child’s future, Quinn managed to hold his tongue.

“He forfeits his rights,” Badria snapped, pointing at Quinn.

“His lifestyle will not affect your child,” Yasameen said. Natasha had dug her nails into Quinn’s arm at that point, clearly wanting him to keep his mouth shut. “You have my word,” the Afghani woman finished.

Silence spread across the room. Quinn’s throat tightened as he watched Badria struggle with her decision. No matter what Natasha had seen that he’d missed, this was a way for his child to be born. Possibly the only way – everything else they could work through later, when emotions weren’t running so hot.

“Done,” Badria said – the word falling like a judge’s gavel.  
***************************************  
Quinn had to excuse himself as Yasameen and her niece began discussing details; admitting his vulnerability to the woman who’d destroyed him in front of somebody he respected like Natasha, had been even harder than he’d expected. His control held until he was safely through the door, but he slumped against the nearest wall nevertheless, tugging his tie loose as he struggled to breathe against the rising tide of panic in his chest.

“Sir,” a guard said, starting towards him, “you can’t…”

“We’re ready to leave,” Natasha said. Eyes wide, Quinn glanced at her – he hadn’t realized she’d followed him. “They’re not talking about anything we have to worry about right now,” she said, moving slowly towards him. “We need to get you out of here.”

He couldn’t even argue with her. He was sweating and his skin was crawling with sense memory – Natasha reached for him, but stopped when he flinched away from her.

“Should I get a doctor?” the guard asked, his expression clearly concerned. Quinn almost laughed. He was seeing some of the best specialists in the world thanks to Clint and Tony – the idea that a prison doctor might be able to help where they failed…

“We just need to get him out of here,” Natasha said. “Down the hall, Jonah, and it’s all over.”

The sound of his first name jarred something deep inside Quinn. Nodding at her, he drew a deep, shuddering breath and pushed himself back to his feet. One foot in front of the other; he wasn’t so far gone that he couldn’t manage _that_ much.

“You never asked if I wanted to give up my rights,” he managed after walking a few feet. “I want to be a father to my child.”

Natasha’s gaze as she looked back at him was almost pitying. “The priority was making sure there was still going to be a child for you to be a father to,” she said. “The aunt and uncle are reasonable people – we now have time to negotiate with them and see what they’re willing to give.”

He chuckled bitterly. “I think Mrs. Sahar made that perfectly clear – ‘his lifestyle will not affect your child’.”

“The Qu’ran makes no provision for homosexuality.” Both Natasha and Quinn looked back to see that Yasameen Sahar had come up behind them. “I am sorry – I know things are done differently in this country, but we cannot betray our faith by having Badria’s child raised by somebody who is unrepentant about his sinful lifestyle.”

Quinn slowed his pace. “Are you saying that if I broke it off with Clint and swore off any future relationships you would be willing to let me spend time with the baby?” He felt Natasha tense, but kept his focus on Yasameen.

“Is this something you would be willing to do?” the Afghani woman asked.

Quinn forced himself to consider the possibility for a moment, but realized that he couldn’t envision a future for himself that didn’t have Clint in it. “No,” he said at last. “Ask me anything else and I will give it due consideration, but Clint Barton saved me. He literally made me a better man and right now the only thing I can be absolutely sure of is that I love him and as long as he’s willing to put up with me I’m going to stay with him.”

It wasn’t the most eloquent speech he’d ever given, but Quinn suspected that he’d managed to make his point.

They reached the door to the waiting room. Clint sprang to his feet as they entered – Quinn would have gone immediately to him, but Yasameen held his attention. “Your words were well chosen as you spoke to my niece,” she said. “It is clear to me that saving this innocent life was your highest priority, not out of pride of ownership, but because you knew it was the right thing to do.” She glanced at her husband. Amin Sahar had also gotten to his feet, although somewhat less enthusiastically than Clint.

“We cannot allow our grand-niece or nephew to see your lifestyle as something normal or desirable,” he said, coming to join them. “Neither do we think it’s right to keep a child from their father if their father wishes to be a part of their life.”

Quinn felt Clint come up behind him, but out of deference to the situation the archer didn’t seek to touch him. “I already told you I wouldn’t give up Clint,” Quinn said to Yasameen – figuring that Clint deserved to hear the words after everything they’d been through. “That’s not an option.”  
*******************************************  
Clint wasn’t surprised to hear that his and Quinn’s relationship had been a topic of discussion, but hearing Quinn defend it so absolutely tightened his chest with emotion.

Amin cleared his throat. “Even if you were willing to give up your…relationship…there is still the matter of your history with our family. We are not asking you to choose between your child and your…partner. What we are proposing is regular visitation and allowing the child to know you as its father.”

“What’s the catch?” Natasha asked drily.

“The catch,” Amin said, “is that Mr. Barton plays no part in this arrangement. Visits will take place either at our home or at a mutually agreed upon neutral location. You will not discuss your relationship and you will make every effort to accept that we will raise this child according to the traditions of our faith and culture.”

“You can’t keep the child from asking questions,” Natasha went on before either Clint or Quinn could say anything. “Are you asking him to lie to his own flesh and blood?”

“We are asking him to avoid the subject until the child is old enough to decide for themselves if they wish to pursue a deeper relationship,” Yasameen said. “I assume there will be other topics that will not be up for discussion – we are simply asking that this be considered to be one of them.”

Clint glanced at Quinn, who was clearly struggling with the offer. “I need some time,” Quinn stammered. “I need to talk it over with Clint.”

Jolted into action, Clint moved until he was standing side by side with his fiancé. “He accepts,” he said, taking Quinn’s hand and squeezing it reassuringly. “We…accept.” He turned towards Quinn. “It’s a better offer than you’re going to get from the mother or the courts. You need to take it before they change their mind.”

“I don’t like the idea of pretending you don’t exist.” Quinn said, frowning.

“You and I both know it’s more important right now that you get to know your child,” Clint countered. “I’m a big boy. I promise my ego can handle it.”  
**************************************  
It wasn’t until they were finally leaving the prison that Natasha pulled Quinn aside. “So were you just playing Badria when you said you weren’t sure your relationship would survive?” she asked, effectively staring him down. “Or is there a real problem here?”

Nodding at Clint that he was all right and the archer should continue on to the car, Quinn sighed. “We’ve been in therapy for weeks Tasha – of course there’s a real problem.”

One perfectly arched eyebrow raised, saving her from actually saying _you know that’s not what I’m talking about._

Quinn swallowed hard. “I don’t deserve him. I never have. The kidnapping, the rapes, the fact that I can’t raise my own child – all of it is in response to things _I_ set in motion, and I can’t stop thinking about the fact that a person who’s done what I’ve done doesn’t deserve somebody like Clint.”

He knew it sounded pathetic and weak, and Quinn was grateful Natasha didn’t laugh at him. “He sees things other people can’t,” she said instead, taking his arm and starting them both walking again. “And he usually turns out to be right. Maybe if you’re having trouble trusting yourself right now, you should try trusting him a bit more?”

It made sense.

“Everything okay?” Clint called as soon as they were in range. Slipping free of Natasha’s hold on his arm, Quinn went to his lover and embraced him. Clint was clearly startled by the suddenness of the gesture, but after a moment he returned the embrace.

“No,” Quinn murmured in his ear. “It’s not, but for the first time in a long time I think it might be getting there.”

A beat passed, and he felt callused fingers comb gently through the fall of his pale hair. “I think so too.”


End file.
